


We Found Love in a Leather Tri-fold

by MelancholySeraph



Category: Supernatural
Genre: (Slight) Stalking, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, As slow a burn you can get in 4 Chapters, Broke Dean, Castiel and Dean Winchester Have a Profound Bond, Dean doesn't like Charity, Declarations Of Love, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flirting, Guardian Dean, Happy Ending, Helpful Castiel, Inaccurate usage of a post office, Light Angst, M/M, Mechanic Dean, NOW CONTAINS THE FIRST MEETING, Prompt Fic, Romantic Fluff, Suspicious Dean, Sweet Castiel, Violence, Writing, mafia, security guards - Freeform, text fic, to a degree, wealthy castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-23
Updated: 2018-05-23
Packaged: 2019-05-10 11:09:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14735834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelancholySeraph/pseuds/MelancholySeraph
Summary: What happens when Dean Winchester loses his wallet? He gets pissed, obviously.What happens when it shows up in his mailbox the next day, full of money that's not his and a note from a stranger? He's intrigued.What happens when you fall in love with a stranger through only their handwriting?Dean's always taken care of every one else around him. Sam, his friends, everyone. But now someone's taking care of him - a mysterious stranger who won't even give him their name. Worse yet, he's starting to love them. Will they ever be able to meet? Or is Dean doomed to an unwanted, unwarranted, forever-alone love?





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: One day you lose your wallet and it is found by a mob boss who figured out that you aren't in such a good place financially, and takes pity on you. So they start anonymously sending cash, clothes, and furniture to you in the mail, eventually, the mob boss sends you a letter stating that they bought you a house and it lists an address. 
> 
> I stuck loosely to this prompt. I hope you guys like the Verse I created out of this. I fell pretty hard for it. And that ending? *sigh. These two can't get any more perfect for me. I hope y'all like it as much as I do. Feel free to comment and tell me your thoughts and feedback. It's one of my favorite things about posting stuff on here. The audience is just so great. <3

  
  
_"Son of a bitch!"_ Dean yells as he slams his hands down into the Impala's steering wheel. He takes a ragged, deep breath, trying to soothe the knot of anxiety and unreasonable rage sitting balled up underneath his ribs, right above his pounding heart. He rubs his hand over the Impala's dash, murmuring to her like she's a person, something his little brother Sam never fails to make fun of him for. "I'm sorry, Baby. That was stupid; I didn't mean it."  
  
He scrubs his calloused palms over his stubbled face in an ineffective effort to ground himself. He takes another deep breath, this one a little more helpful than the last. _Crap_ , he's so screwed. Of everything he could've lost, he had to lose his friggin' wallet? Obviously, it had to be his wallet. Out of everything he carries with him that's the one thing Dean actually needs.  
  
"Shit, what the hell am I supposed to do now?" He mutters aloud. He'd only had a few measly dollars in there but in addition to that the- _Shit._ The fake credit cards. He is so screwed. And the icing on top of the cake, he, _of course,_ had to lose it the one day that he has literally been all over the city. There is no way in hell he'd be able to track it down. Knowing Dean's luck, that shady guy with the vomit stains and the greasy hair that had been hanging outside the gas station had probably taken it. Now Dean has to cancel cards and try to remember what all he carried in there. He is really pissed about the pictures though. Those are irreplaceable. Pictures of Sammy, and Bobby, and Jo, and Ellen and Ash. He needs those pictures. There aren't exactly copies. And now they're gone. Figures. A crappy, miserable ending to a crappy, miserable day. Dean starts the Impala up with a heavy sigh leaving his lips and murmurs more apologies to Baby as he pulls out of the parking lot and into traffic. It takes him forty-five minutes to get home, _of course_. Which is thirty more minutes than it should've but today just isn't his day.  
  
He finally manages to get his key turned _just right,_ and he can let himself into his crappy apartment. He slams the door closed behind him like that'll help at all. He stomps across the living room and literally just throws himself face-down onto the couch, which inexplicably smells like Cheetos. Thanks for that, Sammy. Sam's staying at Bobby's right now. Dean refuses to think it's because he can't provide for Sam, but he knows it's true. It's easier to think that his little brother just really likes visiting with their faux-uncle Bobby. Which, while true, Dean knows he'd rather if they were together. They've never spent so much time apart, not even when he was with Lisa. Sam always came with him. He's been raising him since Mom died, basically, and he's never been apart from him for so long. The absence of his dorky little brother literally sends an ache spiraling through his chest and he can literally not adult anymore today. He's done with it.  
  
After some long, troubled thoughts Dean falls into an uncomfortable, but deep sleep, case-in-point, example one, of his exhaustion with adulting.  
  
  
::::::::::::  
  
  
Dean wakes with a groan and peels his face off the couch which has apparently tried to absorb him. He sits up and winces at the ache in his lower back and the crick in his neck from sleeping with his face shoved into the couch. He can also feel where he has the square-dented imprint of the sofa's material on half his face because it's rough and he's an idiot for sleeping on the couch when he has a perfectly good bed in his room. Well, maybe not a perfectly good bed, but it's alright. Okay, he totally curb-surfed it, but it didn't have bugs or weird stains, and it was relatively un-lumpy, all of which were good points in his book.  
  
He stands up and stretches with his arms outstretched towards the stained ceiling with a wince at the twinge in his lower back. Crap, he needs some aspirin. He shuffles to the bathroom to take a piss and get the mostly empty bottle of painkillers out of the cabinet. He shakes two out in his hand and takes them dry, barely even registering the bitter taste. When did life get like this? He has a shitty, run-down apartment that he's barely affording, working two dead-end jobs and barely making ends meet, not even making enough to keep his ten-year-old brother fed. He's taking more aspirin than he can count; his liver is going to shut down soon if he keeps this up. When had he even bought this bottle? Last week? The week before last? Something like that, Dean can't remember. It doesn't matter anyway. Shit. He has to call and cancel his cards today. He needs to do that soon before he forgets. But first, food.

::::::::::::

He bends a little at the waist and squints at the fridge, hoping something delicious will magically appear. Sadly, the food fairy doesn't do him any favors and nothing appears. Imagine that. All that's in there is a quarter gallon of milk, a lonely piece of bologna in the package, a half-empty jar of pickles, a few condiment bottles, a small container of fake butter, and some fake cheese (the kind that is slimy and plastic and that a nuclear disaster wouldn't harm) and some random take-out boxes from the Chinese place down the street. Their egg rolls are good, but not a week after the fact. He winces at the smell coming from the box and tosses it in the trash, which he needs to take out to the dumpster when he leaves. Mental note? Check. He turns his attention back to the refrigerator and gives a heavy sigh. This is just sad. Soon he'd be drinking pickle juice and eating cardboard just to keep from starving to death. Nah, he thinks.  
  
"Times is hard, but they ain't that hard." He mutters to himself as he opens the cabinet. He smiles when he finds a box of Lucky Charms in there. Awesome. He loves these. Sammy does too, luckily. It's about the only food they actually agree on. Dean pulls out a plastic Tupperware bowl from the cabinet and pours all the remaining Lucky Charms into the bowl (which isn't a lot.)  
  
Thinking about it for a minute, he decides to get the box of Cheerios he has and pour the rest of them in too. Now he has a mostly full bowl of cereal and at least he won't be hungry for a while today. The milk is literally about to go bad so he pours as much of it as he can get away with into the cereal and uses the rest of it in his coffee, which he is now also out of. He wishes he had some sugar to make the coffee less bitter, but no such luck. When was the last time he even went grocery shopping? When was the last time he even had money to _go_ grocery shopping? Dean thinks about it as he chews, trying to remember. He honestly has no idea. He has been running himself ragged between the garage where he works as a mechanic and the gas station where he's an attendant. Add the fact that he's barely sleeping to that and what you get it a good case of C.R.S.S. Can't Remember Shit Syndrome. He's considering trying to find another job just so he can keep them afloat. There's a bar down the street looking for a bartender and granted, Dean's never made drinks he's certainly had enough experience sitting on the other side of the counter to know what he's doing. He's been an absolute mess for the last few weeks. Hell, the last few months. Sammy has been staying with Bobby for three weeks now, which makes Dean feel awful. He has _got_ to get this straightened out. He cannot lose Sammy. Dean finishes his cereal and his nasty coffee and deposits the dishes in the sink, which has a lot of dirty dishes in it that he needs to wash. Another mental note added to the list: He'd do that when he got back. Probably. Actually, probably not.  
  
He is probably going to sleep, honestly. If he can manage it. He pulls the trash bag off the can and ties it. He goes to get another bag and realizes that it's just an empty box sitting on the fridge instead of a box filled with trash bags. Another mental note: Get trash bags.  
  
"Of course."  
  
Is anything going to go right today? Probably not. Dean goes to the bathroom and runs a rag under some cold water, wetting it thoroughly before wiping his face off, hoping to wake himself up a little. Jesus, he needs to shave. He doesn't have the time right now. Nobody at the garage cares what the grunt under the car looks like anyway. He looks like grizzled shit right now, he thinks as he looks in the mirror. He runs his hand through his hair in an attempt to style it and is mildly successful so he counts it as a win for today. Probably his only one, but take it where you can get it, right? He quickly hustles from the bathroom and picks up his keys off the floor by the couch and the bag of garbage sitting by the counter before walking out of his apartment, locking it behind him. What good that'll do, he'll never know. There's literally nothing of value in there. He's two floors down when he realizes that he didn't even change his clothes. Oh well. At least he put deodorant and cologne on. He's almost out of deodorant. Another mental note to the ever-growing list of shit he needs. Fuck, he needs to get paid soon.  
  
He throws the bag of garbage into the graffitied dumpster, where it promptly bursts on impact. Well, awesome. At least it had the basic decency to wait and pop a vein until it was in the dumpster. It would've been a disaster if it had happened on the stairs or something. He would've had to ask his agoraphobic neighbor Chuck for a garbage bag if he was even awake and not passed out or something. That man drank more than Dean did, which was kind of bad considering his habits. Well, old habits now, he guesses. He doesn't have the money for food, let alone booze. There are more important things. Like getting stable enough to get his little brother back. The old shame and insecurities seep through his walls at the thought and he hastily wipes his hands on his jeans as he walks back into the lobby, heading for the wall where all the mailboxes are situated.  
  
The little key on his key ring for the mailbox is a bitch to get to work right and he has to jiggle it in the lock for the stupid door to open but it finally complies with his demands. He pulls the dented metal door open expecting the usual milieu of bills and advertisements but finds a very familiar square of faded brown leather.  
  
"What the hell?" Dean says aloud, completely confused. His _wallet_ is sitting in his mailbox. How in the hell did that get there? He knows he didn't put it there. He suddenly glances around the empty lobby suspiciously, half of his mind wondering if this isn't some sort of weird prank or something. Nobody's in here but him, not that he can tell anyway. There are not many places to hide in the grubby little room, but you never know. Half-afraid that something is going to leap out and bite him, or explode maybe, he reaches inside the box slowly and draws his wallet out. Gingerly.   
  
Nothing happens, of course, but you can't be too careful. Dean holds the wallet in his hand for a minute, knowing without a doubt that it's his. It's the same old worn leather and well-creased tri-fold that he's carried for almost a decade. Bobby had actually bought it for him, years ago. Before things had gone bad. He stops that train of thought in an instant, refusing to give it another second's worth of attention. He unfolds the flaps and peers inside. Much to his amazement, everything seems to be there. He does a quick check and yep, everything's still there. All of his cards, all his pictures of the adopted family he's slowly gathered over the years, everything. And there are some additions. Where before he'd only had a few crumpled ones in the money sheath, there's now a rather large collection of bills. And sticking out from behind his driver's license is a piece of paper he immediately knows doesn't belong to him.  
  
He pulls it out and opens it with shaking hands. There's a neat, looping cursive scrawl across the small square of paper, which is thick and looks expensive. That's the only word for it. 

  
_Hello, Dean._

 _I found your wallet yesterday lying on the sidewalk; I apologize for trodding on it. I assume you didn't mean to leave it there? I do hope you haven't canceled your illegitimate credit cards yet, as that would be unfortunate. I also hope you'll note that nothing is missing. I didn't take anything. Actually, there's been something added. I hope you don't take offense to the gesture. I couldn't help but notice that you could use it, and I can spare it, believe me. I hope it helps and provides you with a small amount of comfort.  
  
                                                                                                                                                                            ~C  
  
  
P.S. The child in the photos is rather adorable.  
  
  
  
_Dean is flabbergasted, to say the least. What the hell? What kind of person, _a stranger,_ returns a wallet with _Jesus fuck,_ an extra five hundred dollars in it? What gives? Dean never gets this lucky. This is like dingo-ate-my-baby crazy and Dean doesn't have the first clue as to how to wrap his head around this. Maybe the person is just really nice, or maybe they liked the way he looked in his driver's license pic, which is hot in his opinion. Dean stands there for a minute, dumbly holding his wallet in his hand and staring at the piece of paper like it holds all the secrets of the universe. Someone actually helped him. And they didn't expect anything back, hadn't asked for anything, or mentioned it was a bother to return it. If anything there's a dry, witty humor running through the note. They wished him comfort. Dean doesn't know how to deal with that. His family is more than willing to help but he'd never ask Ash or Charlie for anything like this. They don't even know how bad it really is. And Bobby's literally taken Sam in and given him a roof over his head while Dean's struggling to keep his head above water. A soft voice by his side interrupts his thoughts.  
  
"H-hey. You alright, Dean?" It's Chuck. Just checking his mail in his trusty frayed bathrobe and tattered slippers. No need to jump out of your skin, idiot, he reminds himself. Dean flashes him a smile he doesn't really feel, "Yeah, man. Fine. Just got to thinking there for a minute. How you doing?"  
  
Deflection, one of Dean's better skills. Chuck averts his eyes and gets a large stack of mail out of the box. A very large stack. Doesn't look like he's checked that in a while. "I-I'm fine. Making progress, actually."  
  
Dean flashes a genuine smile now.  
  
"That's awesome, man. Congrats." Chuck is a writer and Dean knows he struggles with it. No matter what time Dean comes home it's guaranteed that light's shining from under Chuck's door as he works into the night trying to create something. Dean's pretty sure the guy never sleeps. They're not friends or anything, but he's glad to see he's doing better. "Thank you. I'm going to go home now and see if I can't create some more."

  
"Good luck," He calls after him as Chuck hurries away. Weird little guy, he thinks with a shake of his head. That's alright though. Dean isn't exactly what anyone would consider normal. And, if he was wagering a guess, neither was the dude that had forked over five hundred dollars in cash to a perfect stranger.  
  
  
~  
  
  
It wasn't until he was clocking in for his shift at the garage did the thought occur to him: How had the stranger gotten his wallet into his mailbox?  
  
  
  
**~Castiel~**  
  
  
  
Castiel leans back into the soft leather couch cushions, finally relaxing. It has been a very long day, and he is thankful for the quiet solitude of his guarded apartment. With a small smile, he thinks of the wallet he had found the day before. It had been so well worn, and the threading along the edges had been ragged, but it was obviously well-loved and well-traveled. It had a warm, lived-in feel to it. The photos of the boy, later found to be Dean's younger brother Sam, had been precious. He seems to be a rather precocious child, and the siblings were obviously close. He pulls himself from his musings with an effort and opens the email on his phone that Balthazar had sent him and starts reading through it.  
  
**REPORT:**

  * **Dean Winchester, age 24**
  * **Born January 24, 1992**
  * **Excellent G.E.D. scores (more information available), high school drop-out**
  * **Gas station attendant at Gas 'N Sip on Laurel Str.**
  * **Mechanic at Turner's Garage on Prairie Rd.**
  * **Previous relationship with Lisa Braeden (More information available)**
  * **Lives alone, currently**
  * **Single**
  * **Searching for a third job**
  * **Lives at 153 Stark Str. #27**
  * **One younger sibling, has full custody, i.e., Samuel Winchester, called Sam, age 10**
  * **Samuel staying with a family friend named Robert Singer (more information available)**
  * **Two months behind on rent payment (more information available)**
  * **Parents are deceased.**



 

Castiel continues reading, interested in finding out who the man is that interests him so. He knows it's creepy by most people's standards, but it's mere curiosity. Castiel has no plans to harm Dean with the information. His father died some years ago when Sam was only five, and his mother had passed when Sam was about six months old. His school records are scattered, and his addresses for most of his formative years are largely unknown. Dean's barely managing to keep afloat, despite working two jobs in order to support himself and his brother. That is why Castiel gifted him the money. That had been on a whim. Castiel scrolls through the rest of the report, reading intently. He's intrigued by this man. Dean Winchester seems like a very strong, hardworking, but vulnerable man. He's unlike anyone that Castiel knows. Most of his acquaintances are either criminals without a thought for anyone or people in the business that are hardened against the world.   
  
Yesterday Dean had provided a much-needed distraction from the stress of the trial that's been plaguing his family with angst and unwanted hope for a good outcome. Finding Dean's wallet on the sidewalk had merely been an accident, but Castiel doesn't believe in coincidences. _Everything_ happens for a reason. This Dean Winchester seems _interesting._ Castiel wouldn't compromise Dean's safety by trying to contact him in person, but he still finds himself rereading the report Balthazar sent multiple times. He decides to delve deeper into Dean's finances. Perhaps Castiel could be of more use, and Dean would be a nice project. He could use a distraction, and maybe he'd be doing some good in the world. This would be interesting.  
  
  
  
**~Dean~**  
  
  
  
His wallet burns a hole in the back of his jeans all day long. He's hyper-aware of its existence. It feels really weird to actually spend money that he hasn't earned but he needs to. He hits the grocery store first and buys some much-needed supplies, enough so that he won't starve in the next couple weeks. He grabs deodorant and trash bags on his way to the register. He pays the pimply teenager who looks incredibly bored and loads his stuff into the trunk on autopilot. His thoughts are consumed with this mysterious stranger who was somehow kind enough to return his wallet. The fact that it had been in his mailbox still confuses the hell out of him.  
  
How could someone have gotten that in there? And he knows his address was on his driver's license, but still, what if he had moved or something? The person who had written him the note hadn't even written for that contingency. No "Just in case this isn't you's," or anything. Were they a man or a woman? Dean was very curious about C.  
  
He was thinking the note sounded like it was from a guy, but he could be wrong. The joke about the 300-pound disc jockey with the whipcord thin voice is playing through his mind as he unlocks the apartment. He puts his groceries away with a happy heart, humming a Zeppelin tune as he goes. How long has it been since he's hummed? He feels weird spending another person's money but he does really need it right now. He hates that he can say that but it doesn't change the accuracy of the fact. Using his newly bought groceries he makes himself a killer sandwich and devours it standing over the kitchen sink so he doesn't have any more dishes to do. The sink is still full and he was right, he doesn't feel like doing them. He turns off the lights and crashes onto his mostly un-lumpy, bugless, mostly unstained, curb-surfed mattress and falls asleep. And for once, it 's nightmareless and restful. In the morning he would question that aggressively before deciding it was just relief at having some of the financial weight taken off of him.   
  
Also that morning, he nearly breaks his neck tripping over a box sitting outside his door.  
  
"What the hell?" He mumbles to himself before picking up the box and bringing it inside. He sits it on the coffee table, only taking a short glance at it before rushing off to work, praying he makes it on time. He can't afford to be late.  
  
  
~  
  
  
He shuts the door with a weary sigh and flops down on the couch. Without Sammy here it's really quiet and really weird. He has nobody to talk to, nobody to cook dinner for or ask how school went. It's just him and the low rumble of traffic and people yelling outside. It's not exactly a nice neighborhood. The long white box sitting on the table that he nearly killed himself on this morning catches his eye and he leans forward to inspect it. It's about two feet long, and a foot thick.  
  
It's not _heavy_ , but it's definitely got something substantial in it. The only return address is a post office a couple blocks from his apartment. It's addressed to him specifically though, so he knows it's not a mistake. With a shake of his head, he brings his pocket knife out of his back pocket to cut the tape holding it shut. With the flaps cut loose, he's able to open the box and he's confused by the contents. There's a piece of cream-colored paper sitting on the pile and he grabs it. It feels familiar... It's the same paper the person who gave his wallet back used. It's thick, and smells like... leather... and bourbon? Okay then. He unfolds the paper to read it.  
  
  
_Dean, if your family is anything like mine, then small children grow quickly, and are in constant need of clothes. Perhaps this could benefit you? I hope so. With warm regards,                                 ~C._  
  
  
Wow... This dude, well he assumes it's a dude but he could be way off base, just gave him a whole box of clothes for Sammy. Fucking awesome.   
  
"Thanks, stranger." He mumbles. Then an idea strikes him. He can tell the stranger thank you. The post office should be able to give it to whoever sent it. So he sits down and writes the note and decides to walk to the post office tonight just to get it over with. He can't wait to call Sammy and tell him about the new clothes he has.


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope it's obvious from the way I wrote it, but in case I'm just too close to it, the bold text messages are from Cas, and the italics are Dean. Their letters are all in italics. Hope you're enjoying. :)

  
**~Castiel~**  


  
Castiel sits at his desk and looks at the envelope curiously. He'd never imagined that Dean would try to contact him in return. Castiel slides his thumb under the lip of the envelope and opens it, pulling out a sheet of notebook paper with a grin. The scrawling cursive is almost chicken scratch, but Castiel likes it.

  
_Dear whoever you are, thank you. Sammy, (I assume you already know his name since it was in my wallet, but if not, he's the "adorable child" in the pics), he could actually really use these. Little Bean's been growing like a weed for a year now and it's near impossible to keep him in clothes that fit. I've never been too keen on taking charity, but as I'm guessing you noticed, I'm not in the best of spots right now. Thank you for giving me my wallet back, and the money, and the clothes. It means more than you could know, and it helps a lot. Thanks, stranger. ~Dean._

_P.S. By the way, since you know my name, and apparently a lot about me, I think it's only fair that I have a couple of questions for you. 1. How did you get my wallet in my mailbox? Those are only supposed to be accessible by key, so unless you just happen to be the mailman or the apartment handyman... And 2. Are you a man or a woman? Or other. I know that's a thing and if you are, totally cool with it by the way(sorry if that's rude). Thanks again._

  
Castiel's smiling by the time he rereads the letter for the fourth time. He's writing out a reply before he can really think about it.

  
**~Dean~**

  
He's shocked to find an envelope tacked to his door a day after he sent his letter. He's really going to have to get a camera or something so he can see who keeps sending these. Maybe he'd get his answer this time. He pulls out the familiar paper and reads it as the coffee maker brews and fills the kitchen with its delicious scent.

  
_Dear Dean, I was not expecting a reply but I appreciate the fact that you took the time to write one. You are more than welcome for the clothes, returning the wallet was just a common courtesy. As to how your wallet got into your mailbox... It's a secret. I can say this though, I am not the mailman, nor am I your building maintenance. And I'm a man. Does Sam like to read? Best regards, ~C._

  
Dean laughs. Dude is always so formal. "Best regards" Nobody talks like that anymore. He grabs a sheet of notebook paper from the dwindling pile on the table and writes his letter. He drops it off at the post office on his way to work and he wonders all day about the reply he's going to get.

  
  
**~Castiel~**

  
  
He shouldn't be this delighted that Dean replied to his letter, but he is. He doesn't care. This has been the most excitement he's gotten in ages. He unfolds the paper with a childlike glee and reads quickly.

  
_Dear C, good to know you're a dude. Thanks for answering. And no, by the way, returning my wallet was not common courtesy. Most people would have just taken it, or thrown it away. Nobody would've bothered to hunt me down and give it back, much less help me out like you have (thank you again.) And why is my mailbox thing a secret? Don't tell me... You're a bank robber and you're awesome at picking locks. Nah, just kidding. I guess you can keep that secret. And hells yeah, Sammy likes to read. He absorbs books like most people take in air. The kid's a genius, and I'm not just bragging. (Okay a little, but I'm the big brother - I get to do that.) The kid's smart. He's going places, you know? Oh, and by the way, nobody says "best regards" anymore! You have no idea how hard that made me laugh. Not dissing you or anything man, but dang, you talk like a 90-year-old woman. You sure you're a dude? (I'm just kidding, please don't break into my apartment and kill me or something). Why'd you ask if Sammy likes to read? ~Dean_

  
_P.S. What's your name? Why do I only get an initial? You've got my address and everything. You're not playing fair._

  
He laughs out loud at the fact that Dean called him a ninety-year-old woman. Gabriel will enjoy that. He writes his reply out and wonders what exactly he's doing. This could be dangerous. Perhaps he should assign a security detail to Dean, just in case someone finds out about these letters.

_Dear Dean, you don't need to thank me for answering a question. And I suppose you might be right about returning wallets being "common courtesy". Most people would probably not. (You're welcome since you continue to thank me. Unnecessarily, I might add.) The "mailbox thing" is a secret because of reasons that I am to know, and you are to guess since I presume you will continue to ask. I am pleased that Sam likes to read. As you can see from the box of books this is attached to, I have more than enough to spare. Hopefully, he will like them. Do you like to read, Dean? Your brother seems very intelligent, as do you. And it is perfectly okay to be proud of a younger sibling, I myself have been on many occasions. Your statement is inaccurate. Some people do say "best regards." I do. I promise I will not break into your apartment and attempt to harm you. I asked because I was curious. Best regards, ~C._

_P.S. And my name is of little consequence. I wasn't aware we were playing a game._

**~Dean~**

  
  
Dean finds himself grinning at Cas's letter. This guy is funny in a dry, witty sort of way. He sent a shit ton of books for Sam, which is awesome. There were even a few Vonnegut so Dean will probably end up jacking those if he can ever find time to read them.

  
_Dear C, why would your name be of little consequence? You're not like the godfather or something are you? Because actually, that would be pretty awesome. But if you don't want to tell me your name, it's fine. Sam loves the books you sent. Thanks for that, again. They're awesome. And yeah, I like to read. When I have time to, which is like never. I totally jacked the Vonnegut novels from the box though. I'm more into that kinda thing than Sam anyway. Do you have a lot of siblings? You've mentioned them a couple of times. I've just got Sammy. What about you? Do you like to read? I'm guessing you do, but then again, you're getting rid of books so... No "best regards" or anything of that 1800-year-old bullshit. Just a simple "yours" would do. So in that case... Yours, Dean_

  
Shit. Did he really just do that? He did. He's sweating the whole time he's walking to the post office, wondering how this will go.

 

 **~Castiel~**  


  
Castiel nearly swallows his tongue when he sees the way Dean signed his name. As if the godfather comment wasn't enough to give him heart palpitations. Oh heavens... After waiting a few moments for his heart to calm down he writes out his reply to Dean and gives it to Gabriel to deliver immediately with the addendum that Dean isn't at his apartment when Gabriel tacks that to his door.

  
**~**

  
_Dear Dean, what if I am the godfather? What would you do? And I'm glad Sam likes the books I sent. Tell me, is there anything you need? Do not be shy. I'd like to help. I suppose you don't have a lot of time to read, though that is a shame. One I share, unfortunately. I rarely have time to read either. My work keeps me very busy. I like Vonnegut as well, he's an excellent author. Yes, I do have a lot of siblings. More than is necessary, I assure you. (That's a private joke among us. The younger siblings are often teased that our parents should've stopped while they were ahead.) I do enjoy books, I just thought you and Sam would appreciate those. Believe me, I have plenty. And I suppose you're correct. So in that case... Yours, ~C_

  
  
**~**   


  
_Dear C, can I offer up a new mode of communication? I'm teasing you about being from the 1800's and here we are writing letters. You could always text me if you want. Anonymous and all that. So yeah, if you want, 612-476-0983. That's me. If you do text me, just say godfather and I'll know it's you. And if you should so happen to be the godfather that would be like the best thing ever. I'd probably bow down and worship you. It's hella cool. And nah. I'm good, man. You don't have to ask stuff like that. And you don't have to keep sending stuff. It's alright. We're fine. How many sibs you got, man? You make them sound like an army. Or a pack or something. Guess having a big family though you guys kinda are a pack, huh? Text me, man, so I don't have to keep using this stupid ass pencil. Makes me feel like a twelve-year-old. Yours, ~Dean._

  
Castiel considers it for a moment before adding a new contact to his phone. His cellphone cannot be tracked, they'd made sure of that after the last mishap where Anna had nearly lost her life. Besides, continuous contact with Dean would be easier if he was using a cell phone. It was harder to track as well. He's had a security team trailing Dean since the thought occurred to him. Gadreel and Alfie worked well together, and he trusted they could keep Dean safe should something come up. There's a sharp knock on his door to which he responds, "Come in."

Gabriel pops his head in wearing an impish grin which can only mean something has gone either terribly right for them or horribly wrong for someone else. "What is it, Gabriel?"

Gabriel throws a case file down on his desk which Castiel promptly opens. Oh, this is good news. He looks up and Gabriel wags his eyebrows mischievously. "Luci's going to prison."

  
  
**~Dean~**  


  
He's just settling in for the night when his phone goes off. He considers ignoring it, but a nagging thought at the back of his mind makes him roll over and grab it. Maybe it's C. He didn't have a letter on his door earlier which kind of worried him. Maybe he pushed too far by telling the dude to text him. Luckily, he's wrong. The text is from C. He inputs the contact information then texts him back.

  
**10:32 PM: <C: Godfather. It's C, Dean.**

_10:34 PM: >Dean: Hey C. What's up?_

**10:35 PM: <C: Not much to speak about. It has been a long day, albeit a very good one. How was yours? And commenting on the last letter you sent, you seem fine if I just send a gift, but if I ask you if you need something you say no. I'm not stupid, Dean. Your financial situation isn't the best, I know you are in need of things. If you do not tell me, I will simply send them anyway. And I have six siblings. We are rather like a pack, as it happens. And no one told you that you had to use a pencil to write letters, Dean.**

_10:35 PM: >Dean: Glad your day was good. Mine was pretty sucky but it's looking up now. ;) And yeah, man, I mean... I'm not asking for charity. It feels wrong on so many different levels. We get by alright. Not saying what you've done hasn't helped, cuz it sure as hell as, but we're alright. Don't need you doing all that, man. And dude, you probably couldn't find a pen in this place if you tried lol._

**10:35 PM: <C: Was that a flirtation? And it's not charity, Dean. It's just... A friend helping out a friend.**

_10:36 PM: >Dean: Maybe it was. And are we friends?_

**10:37 PM: <C: Aren't we?**

_10:38 PM: >Dean: Dude, I don't even know your name. I mean, you're cool and all, and talking to you is awesome, but still, I don't know you._

**11:04 PM: <C: Cas. You may call me Cas.**

_11:04 PM: >Dean: I thought you left there for a minute._

**11:04 PM: <Cas: I had to think. Can we be friends now, Dean?**

_11:05 PM: >Dean: Yeah, Cas. We can be friends. Thanks for telling me._

**11:05 PM: <Cas: No need to thank me for something that should be common courtesy. I'm glad we can be friends, Dean.**

_11:05 PM: >Dean: Me too, Cas. Me too. :)_  


**~**  


And that's how it started. Weeks pass and Dean routinely texts Cas throughout the day when he isn't busy, and usually, Cas will respond within minutes unless he is in a meeting or something, which Dean quickly learned not to ask about cause Cas gets bristly about it. Dean still doesn't know what he does for a living, or where he lives, or even his full name, but Dean's mostly okay with that. He has a feeling the guy's shady, but some of the best people he's ever met are considered national criminals. Charlie and Ash being the best examples since they're both amazing computer hackers. Their skills scare Dean sometimes. Cas is still sending stuff though Dean insists he doesn't need it. Cas refuses to listen and just sends it anyway, just like he said he would. Dean really can't complain too much. It is actually stuff he needs. New clothes for both him and Sam, toiletry stuff which was just weird, and most embarrassing of all, food boxes.

But, as horrifyingly embarrassing as it is, Cas helping him gives Dean the financial leeway he needs to get Sam back in the apartment with him. Both brothers are overjoyed about it. Especially when Sam saw the apartment. Dean had to build a new bookshelf for all the books Cas had sent, so that was the newest add-on to the living room, in addition to the armchair that Cas had delivered after Dean had made an offhand comment about wanting one a couple weeks ago. He definitely hadn't expected Cas to do that, but in hindsight, he should've known better. He's got to learn to keep his trap shut. Besides the new furniture, the cabinets are brimming with food, as well as the refrigerator. And after having some of the stress taken off of him Dean's remembered he actually does like to clean, so the apartment is nearly spotless when Sam comes home. Seeing Sammy's face light up at the way it all looked was more than enough to make up for being embarrassed about Cas helping him.

 _"Dean,"_ Sammy breathes. "This is awesome. How'd you do it?" He turns those big brown eyes on Dean and he feels like a shit for lying but he really can't tell his kid brother he's basically got a sugar daddy without the side benefits.

"Call it divine providence, Sammy. You like it?"

"Heck yeah, I like it. I just don't get how you did it." He narrows his eyes. "Did you get another job?"

"Nope." Too late, Dean realizes that the lie would have been a perfect out. Sam might've bitched at him for working too hard, but he would've had a reasonable excuse.

"Well, did you win the lottery or something? Or get a raise? I don't understand." Sam shakes his head, obviously confused, his hair flopping down in his eyes.

"Uh, man, does it really matter? We've got it, and that's that."

"It does kind of matter. You didn't steal it did you?"

Dean rolls his eyes in exasperation. "No, Sam, I didn't steal it. A friend helped me out, okay? He's nice and I didn't ask him or anything, he just did it."

"Ooh, what's his name?"

"Cas."

Sammy looks around the room with wide, hopeful eyes. "Is Cas an angel?"

He asks it so innocently that it makes Dean smile. He walks over and ruffles Sammy's hair a little. "Yeah. I guess he is, Sammy. He's our angel." Dean hugs his little brother with some moisture building in his eyes. It's about time that something goes right in there lives.  
  
  



	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next to last chapter. Ready for the boys to meet yet? I am. :)
> 
> Thoughts?

>  

**~Castiel~**  


  
_3:14 PM: >Dean: So, uh, ya know, if I disappear or something, maybe get somebody to watch Sam._

**3:16 PM: <Cas: What? Dean, what's wrong?**

_3:16 PM: >Dean: I'm yanking your chain, man, lol. There's just this car following me around lately. So I kinda had to do that, lol._

**3:16 PM: <Cas: What's the make and model of the car? Can you tell who's driving?**

_3:16 PM: >Dean: It's a black BMW. Looks new. Two guys inside. One's smaller than the other. Why are you asking, Cas?_

**3:17 PM: <Cas: Just curiosity. Don't worry about it. Please.**

_3:17 PM: >Dean: Right. Cuz that's not throwing up little red flags all over the place. Why you being weird about this?_

**3:17 PM: <Cas: I apologize. I'm merely worried for your safety.**

_3:17 PM: >Dean: It's alright. I get it. But don't worry about it Cas. I'll be fine. Promise. ;)_

**3:18 PM: <Cas: How could you promise such a thing?**

_3:18 PM: >Dean: If anybody tries anything I'm more than capable of taking care of myself._

**3:18 PM: <Cas: How capable is your version of capable?**

_3:18 PM: >Dean: Now you're just being insulting. Very capable. Why don't you drop by and we'll go a few rounds? ;)_

**3:18 PM: <Cas: I have a feeling that I would best you in a fight, Dean. ;)**

_3:19 PM: >Dean: If you're so sure of that why don't you come over and find out? ;)_

**3:19 PM: <Cas: That wouldn't be a good idea, Dean. But thank you.**

_3:19 PM: >Dean: Really? You're gonna puss out on me? Didn't figure you to be a coward, Cas. ;)_

**3:20 PM: <Cas: I'm not a coward, Dean. Don't talk about things that you do not understand.**

_3:21 PM: >Dean: Yeesh. No need to be an ass about it. I was joking._

**3:21 PM: <Cas: I'm sorry for being rude. It wasn't intentional.**

**3:29 PM: <Cas: Dean?**

**3:40 PM: <Cas: Dean, are you alright?**

**3:58 PM: <Cas: Dean, please answer me.**

  
A harsh knock on the door sounds right before a wheezing Gadreel pushes it open and comes in, pulling a bloody Alfie behind him. Castiel immediately sobers. "What happened? Report, now."

Gadreel and Alfie both collapse into the chairs on the opposite side of his desk and start talking at the same time. Castiel interrupts, "Alfie. You first. What happened? Is Dean safe?"

He nods and Castiel breathes a sigh of relief. "Nobody did this to us, sir. It was him. Winchester apparently tagged us tailing him and caught on. He surprised us and managed to drag Gadreel out of the car. We didn't tell him who we were or who we worked for, but he was rather determined." Alfie winces and rubs his ribs. His face is bruised, and his nose looks broken. Gadreel's not much better. His shoulder looks dislocated which was going to be a bitch to get back in place. Castiel knows from experience that the injury has to hurt terribly. They both have blood covering their street clothes and there is a large tear in Gadreel's shirt, going across his stomach. Castiel finds this amusing and is having a hard time restraining his laughter despite it being two of his own injured. "When was this?"

Gadreel looks down at his watch, which Castiel notices has a broken face. "About thirty minutes ago, sir. He's very vicious. We didn't know he is such an experienced fighter."

Neither did I, Castiel muses, neither did I.

  
_4:23 PM: >Dean: Quit your worrying Mom I'm fine._

**4:29 PM: <Cas: Dean, what happened to you? I thought you were angry with me.**

_4:31 PM: >Dean: I was. But I took out some frustration and I'm alright now. Dude, look, I get that you need your privacy. It's hard not to push though. I wanna know you, man. I don't get why you can't tell me stuff, or why we can't hang out._

**4:32 PM: <Cas: How exactly did you take out your frustration? Or should I even ask since that sounds vaguely sexual? I'm sorry I can't tell you about myself, Dean. I know you won't understand this, but it's for your safety, and I can't jeopardize that. I'm sorry.**

_4:32 PM: >Dean. *sigh.* I get it, Cas. I'll shut up about it. And no, sadly it wasn't sexual. I beat the crap out of the goons tailing me. They didn't talk though. I don't know why they were following me. Maybe just looking for an easy hit._

**4:32 PM: <Cas: I'm glad you're safe, Dean. Who came out on top do you think, you or them?**

_4:33 PM: >Dean: Oh, definitely me. The big one landed a punch to my jaw, but I barely feel it. They mostly weren't able to land any hits. I'm pretty sure I dislocated one dude's shoulder, mighta broke the little one's nose. Hopefully, it sends a message to whoever that you don't mess with a Winchester and get away with it._

**4:33 PM: <Cas: That certainly does send a message, Dean.**

**4:33 PM: <Cas: Are you sure you're alright?**

_4:33 PM: >Dean: Yeah, Cas, I'm fine. Promise. Barely even have bruises, man. I'm awesome like that._

**4:34 PM: <Cas: Indeed you are.**

  
**~**

  
_"Shit!_ I can't believe this!" Dean rages aloud, thankful that Sammy's at school and isn't seeing him like this. Shit. He can't do this right now. He throws the eviction notice down on the counter and holds his head in his hands. What the fuck is he gonna do? He's strapped. Even with Cas's help he's still barely keeping his head above water and if they don't have a place to live he's fucked. He can't afford another deposit on a place, much less a water down payment or trying to move everything. _Fuck!_


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end of my lil fic. Hope you liked it!

  
Later, Dean's still steaming as he goes and checks his mailbox. He just took the trash out and now he's on his way back, and it was on the way. He's really just expecting more bills, or maybe some magazines or something, but what he's not expecting is the thick envelope with familiar writing across the front. Why did Cas send him a letter? Come to think of it, he hasn't talked to Cas since yesterday, which is weird for them. Dean barely restrains himself from opening the letter in the lobby, but he wants to do it in the privacy of his apartment. It feels weird to do it out here in the open, which he knows makes no sense. He shuts his door loudly and flops down on the couch, staring at the cream-colored envelope. All it says is Dean Winchester on the front. With dread building in his belly, he jerks it open and pulls out the letter. Something heavy falls into his lap and he picks it up with a confused look. It's a key. A big, silver key with a red tag attached. What the-? He hurriedly opens the letter and starts to read.  
  
_Dear Dean, as I'm sure you already know, this is Cas, as you call me. The key isn't a mistake, it's for you. That key goes to a house that's about twenty minutes from your apartment. 1657 Pine street. I hope you like it. I bought it for you. I know you will protest this, it's why I didn't tell you. I am, however, in the way of knowing that you need a place, and I can spare it. I want to be fully honest with you, Dean, and I hope you'll forgive me for deceiving you. Lying by omission, I suppose. The two men you beat up were mine. They work for me, and no, I wasn't stalking you. I had them watching you for security reasons. I had... have, to keep you safe, Dean. You've come to mean a lot to me in the time that we've spoken, so I need to fully disclose to you who I am. Cas is a nickname. My full name is Castiel James. If the name doesn't ring a bell, then you're welcome to Google it. I'm sure you'll find all you need to know._

 _There's a multitude of things I wish to tell you, and I hope you're still reading this. Firstly, I'm sorry I worried you with having my men tail you. I wanted to protect you, and I couldn't risk it. Secondly, talking to me is dangerous. If anyone were to find out you would be a target. I am positive that I can keep you and your brother safe, but you should know that. Thirdly, the house is no strings attached. It's your choice to take it or not. It's in your name, and as far as the city's concerned, you own it and the land it's on. It's yours, and you are more than welcome to it if you wish. If you decide not to take it, that's entirely your choice. Should you want to, you may move in by this weekend, that's three days from now. The house will be ready then. Fourthly... This is the hard part. At least for me._  
  
_You told me not that long ago that you wanted to meet me and you wanted to "hang out." I know you didn't understand then, but I'm sure you can now that I couldn't do that because of your safety. If I know you at all, you're asking why I can now. I'm not sure how closely you watch the news, but recently there was a trial that's been fairly popular._

_A trial for a man named Luke Morningstar. That's not his true name. His name was originally Lucifer James and he's my brother. He rebelled, basically, many years ago, and started working against us. Targeting our families and anyone close to us in retaliation for our apparent wrongdoing of him. His recent conviction has opened doors unavailable to my family for a long time. You... You are my door, Dean. As strange as it is, you, this stranger I've been talking to and helping, has been my one link to sanity throughout this trial. You have kept me from going offline, I suppose you could say. Perhaps this news is unwelcome, if so I apologize deeply, Dean. Regardless of what you decide to do about me, the house is yours, free and clear. If you never wish to contact me again I will most certainly understand, and I will not contact you, Dean. I swear that to you. And nothing will happen to you if you do decide to never speak to me again. I wouldn't let anything happen to you, regardless._

_If you do still want to meet, you will find me at a partially finished house on 1657 Pine street on Friday night. I'll be there. If you do not show, I will know your answer, and that is fine. You can still move in on Saturday morning, and we will never speak again. I would understand. I'd like to say we've become friends, and I've grown oddly close to you, Dean. I value your friendship. We share a strangely profound bond. Whatever you decide to do, the conversations we've shared will always be something I remember fondly. I'm glad to have at least helped you in what ways I can, Dean. I hope to see you on Friday, but if I do not, I will understand. And just because I know how much it makes you roll your eyes and laugh, best regards, ~Castiel_

_P.S. I have grown rather fond of our signature, however, so I will say this at least once more, ~Yours, Cas_

  
Dean's stunned. The paper flutters to the floor between his feet and he stares blankly at the water-stained wall across from the couch. Cas is... Cas is in the mob. Not only that, he leads it. Jesus Christ, what even is Dean's life? He rubs his hands over his face and leans forward with his elbows on his knees. Cas is a mob boss. Jesus. He probably kills people on a day to day basis. No, Dean reminds himself, Cas is a good guy. He knows he is. They've talked about everything since they began texting and they've grown close, or Dean'd like to think so. He thinks about Cas all the time. Talking to him is like the highlight of his day, and he's found himself telling Sammy about him as he cooks breakfast or whatever. He's had dreams about Cas for fuck's sake, wondering what he sounds like, or what his lips feel like and _oh God,_ Dean's in love with him.

  
**~**

  
Dean grips the Impala's steering wheel with a white-knuckled hold and tries to sort himself out. He's scared. And worried. And nervous and confused and excited and sort of happy in a weird way. He's just a big ball of emotions right now and he feels something like Carrie. He's afraid if he stares too long at something it's going to set itself on fire. He's sitting outside the house that Cas bought him. And Cas is _in there_ right now. The thought makes his heart flutter and race beneath his sternum so fast he thinks he might faint. _How in the hell_ could he be so stupid as to fall in love with a guy he's never met? It doesn't even make sense. _But it does,_ he thinks with a shrewd shake of his head.  
  
Cas is generous and giving, and kind, and funny, and smart, and easy to talk to, and yeah he's a little weird, and yeah, he might murder people, but he's a good person. Dean has no doubt in his mind that Cas never does anything without the best intentions in mind. They haven't talked since Dean opened the letter on the couch that Cas revealed his name to him. Since then he's done research on Castiel James, and he's found some interesting things.  
  
Cas regularly donates to a charity for children's cancer research, his sister Anna was hospitalized for gunshot wounds, and Dean has a feeling he knows how that happens. He publicly denounced Luke and his actions. He rallied against Luke's campaign of terror. Cas is a good guy. Dean knows this. He can feel it. His stomach feels fluttery and he's seriously wondering if he's going to vomit or not.

Dean takes a deep breath and says, "Nut up, Winchester."

Pep talks have never been his strong suit. He just says fuck it and pushes the Impala's door open and climbs out, shutting it with a bang that echoes on the still night air. It's a nice neighborhood. And he likes the way the house looks. Big yard, ball goal on the garage. All that suburban shit Dean never thought he'd get to have for Sammy. But here it is. And inside the house he's admiring... there's a mob boss that Dean might just love a little bit. Well, fuck. Nothing to do but to do it, as Sam would say. Dean stills his shaking hands by putting them in his pockets only to draw them right back out again. He's too antsy for this. But if he doesn't do it now, he'll lose Cas forever.

Dean walks up the path and then climbs the steps up onto the spacious porch. The door is white and has decorated glass and a golden looking handle thing. He's not sure if he should knock or... Well, the house is technically his so he's walking in, he decides with a shrug. He thumbs the little push-down button on the handle and slowly pushes the door open, his heart doing the frikken Meringue in his chest. He pokes his head around the door, looking around before stepping inside. The lights are on and the house is silent. Dean steps fully inside and closes the door. He looks around with wide eyes. This actually isn't bad. It's spacious and open but not ginormous, the lines are clean but it's not so white that it blinds him. The colors are warm and homey and he can totally see him and Sam chilling in here. He's already planning out where he wants to put stuff to set it up for him and Sam. Dean stands in the entryway, nervously thumbing the bottom of his coat. What if Cas isn't here? What if something happened? What if he missed him already, or Cas changed his mind and didn't show? What if Cas doesn't want him the way Dean is? Fuck, he's so stupid.

There's a hushed whisper of feet on the smooth wood floor and Dean looks up, heart beating so loudly he can hear the blood pulsing in his ears. It's like his entire world is frozen in crystalline glass, ready to shatter. Please be Cas, he prays to no one in particular. Then Castiel James is rounding the corner.

Dean's heart stops and his world narrows down into slow motion. He's seen pictures of Castiel James of course, but this is Cas. Cas is in socked feet and has on black jeans that hug his thighs, and he's in a pale pink button-down dress shirt and his black hair is a fucking mess, he's obviously been running his hands through it. His lips are pink and plush and parted over straight white teeth in what appears to be shock and when Dean reaches his eyes he feels like his focus narrows down solely into those deep blue pools, framed by thick black lashes. Cas keeps walking forward until he's only a foot or so away from Dean.

Dean feels like his entire universe is shaking apart, his body vibrating from tension. His eyes are locked in an intense stare down with Cas's, and in between them a million silent questions are asked and blessings expressed. _Are you really here? This is you. I'm seeing you. You came? You're beautiful. I love you. I'm so glad you came. You're here? You're really, truly here? Can I have you?_

Dean's hand comes up in the space between them, trembling slightly, and he reaches out until his palm is hovering by Cas's face. He implores the man to understand with his eyes, scared that his voice will ruin the tenuous grasp on _unreality_ that they have right now. Cas takes a deep breath and slowly leans into Dean's hand until his palm is scratching against the stubble on his cheek and his fingertips are nestled in his soft hair. Dean's tongue snakes out and he wets his bottom lip before drawing it into his mouth to bite it. Cas opens his eyes and looks over at Dean, his gaze intense and speaking volumes. Dean does the only thing he can think of. The only thing that feels right. He nods.

  
**Two years later:**

He can't believe that he and Cas are about to get married. He and Sam live in Cas's house now, but only because Sam wanted to. Well, Dean wanted to live with his boyfriend, but not at the price of Sam's sanity. When Dean and Cas started dating he and Sammy had been living in the house Cas had given them, but after a year Sam had said it was stupid because they were either always over at Cas's house or he was over at theirs. That had been the deciding factor, really. Moving in was stupidly easy, and it made everything better.

Sam got a kick out of having maids and cooks, though Dean still cooked for him cause why the hell not. It was his little brother. Sam absolutely loved Cas's library, and Dean was pretty fond of his music collection. Dean kept Sam away from Cas's business. He didn't want him all wrapped up in that, but Sam isn't stupid. He had cornered Dean one day and asked about it, so Dean had told him the truth. Sam was just happy to be in on it, and he had sworn to never say a word to anyone. He was kept safe, and really, going out with a security detail actually wasn't that bad. He would've killed for one when he lost Sam in the grocery store that time. And today... Today Dean was going to walk up that damn aisle like a pretty, pretty princess and marry his damn fiance. The wedding was just a small, simple outdoor thing. That's what Dean and Cas had both wanted. Dean had wanted to meet Cas at the end of the aisle and walk up it together, but Cas had wanted to do it traditionally.

Dean had protested that he didn't want to be the damn girl in the relationship and Cas had leveled him with a flat look that spoke volumes. Just because Dean bottomed exclusively didn't mean a damn thing in his opinion.

"You ready, Dean?" Sam pipes up. He looks pretty cute in his black tux. Dean ruffles his hair which makes the twelve-year-old complain loudly. "Dean, stop it! I'm not a kid anymore."  
  
Dean laughs, "Yeah, I'm ready. You go ahead and go out. I know my cue."  
  
Sam walks to the door and grasps the knob before turning around to look at Dean, "I'm happy for you, you know. You guys are good together."  
  
Dean smiles, "I know. Now go stand up there like you're supposed to. I've gotta walk up the damn aisle and you better not be laughing or I will smack you, wedding or not."

Sam just laughs, "No promises." And he walks out.

Dean's left alone. He looks in the mirror one last time. He looks pretty damn good. His black suit has bottle green accents and fits him like a glove because it was tailored for him. Cas's is a matching one except it has dark blue accents. Dean hears the piano music startup and he's ready now. He takes a deep breath and grasps the knob and pulls the door open. He gasps at what he sees. There, across the yard, Cas is waiting with a smirk on his face looking like a vision bathed in warm summer sunlight. Dean walks out to him with a little bit of awe and some confusion. Cas just smiles and they clasp their hands together. As they begin to walk up the aisle Cas murmurs softly in that deep, rumbling voice that Dean loves so much, "Don't look at me like that. As if I'm ever going to let you walk through any part of life alone, especially the part where we're beginning ours together. I love you, Dean."

Dean just smiles like a Miss America contestant who won a crown. He feels like he's on top of the world. "I love you too, Cas."  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wanted to add: I know the pacing is all jacked, but it's a fan fic, don't judge too harshly.
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> I adore feedback, so if you feel moved please feel free to leave a comment. I love hearing from you guys! <3

**Author's Note:**

> Tell me your thoughts. :)
> 
> Please??!!?


End file.
